


Unintended Recipient

by theundeadsiren (rhoen)



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1899927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhoen/pseuds/theundeadsiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon can't help but be intrigued by Kieren, Amy's friend back in Roarton. By the time Simon and Kieren actually meet, Simon has read every letter that had been sent to Amy, and somehow has fallen in love with his words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr user simonsjumpers suggested this. I always thought Simon would have been intrigued by Kieren from what Amy has told him and the letters Kieren sent, so yeah, I ran with it. It was supposed to be a short drabble, but kinda ended up being this huge monstrosity. I know I haven't filled the prompt perfectly, but hopefully this is okay, even if a little godamn long? I wish I could have done it justice.
> 
> I kinda went back and forth with it for a few days, sorry it took so long to finish up.
> 
> All mistakes are my own, apart from Kieren's. Those are intentional.

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Thank you for respecting my wishes

* * *

 

It wasn’t a proud moment, but he had done it anyway. Amy had always been so enthusiastic whenever a letter had arrived for her from her friend back in Roarton, and he couldn’t help his curiosity about this guy. Amy talked freely about most things, but not so much about Kieren – at least not to the majority of people. He noticed the details she missed out – without them, no one would know the truth of what her friend was going through and just how deeply Amy worried. But Simon knew. He had welcomed Amy as he had any other Undead who had seen the light and decided to take a step towards the future and she, just like the others, looked up to him with respect and admiration. It was easy to get Amy to confide in him. 

At first she had been fine. She had arrived, brimming with excitement and enthusiasm for the ULA movement, and telling anyone who would listen about her past, her family, her life, her death and rising, her friends. Before she had decided to leave the small town she had died and risen in – the significance of which was only realised by the ULA some months later – Amy had befriended another ‘rehabilitated’ Undead, some guy called Kieren. She talked a lot about him, despite the relatively short time they had known each other. He was someone she had hunted with during the rising, and had bumped into again after his release. Just before Amy had left Roarton, Kieren’s childhood friend had returned to the village, and Simon briefly wondered if that was part of the reason Amy had decided to leave. At least once a week she would sit down and write a letter to Kieren, always trying to find the most outrageous stationary to use, and decorating anything ‘boring’ with bright doodles and scribbles, as well as any stickers she could get her hands on. Simon was quite honestly surprised the sorting office even processed the letters. Given that it took nearly two months for Amy to receive anything in reply, he assumed they’d just binned them.

But then the first letter had arrived.

Luckily for Amy, there were few people in the commune when she had spotted the letter and danced, chanting happily, around the large kitchen. Busy at the island with a fresh batch of neurotriptyline, Simon had raised an eyebrow as Amy bounded around the room for a full two minutes, before finally gravitating towards Simon and leaning against the counter near him. Tearing into the letter, she grinned widely as she began to read aloud to the whole room.

“It’s from Kieren! Listen, listen! ’My dearest, most beautiful Amy!’” she dramatically began. Simon couldn’t help but smile at her embellishment of what was probably just a simple ‘Hi Amy’ on paper. She was already continuing on.

“’I am sorry it took so long for me to write back. I’m sorry’ – gosh, doesn’t he need to stop apologising, the little sweetheart? Ahem… “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to say this. I don’t want to admit it’…”

Her voice trailed off. From the dining table, Rachel had been paying attention, watching Amy as she read the letter.

 “Doesn’t want to admit what?” she asked, eagerly. Still focused on decanting the orange liquid he was busy with, Simon wasn’t really interested in Kieren’s admission – at least not until he glanced up and caught the look on Amy’s face.

She was distraught.

Her demeanour had completely changed. Her hands trembled, and she fought to maintain control. Opening her mouth, she continued.

“’But I have to tell you how much I love you and adore you and miss you every second of every day.’ Aww, isn’t he such a romantic?”

Simon could tell those were not the words written on the letter that Amy held far too tightly in her slightly shaking hands. The broad grin she suddenly plastered across her face was alarming. He glanced at Rachel. She hadn’t even noticed anything was amiss. Amy continued her act.

“’I can’t wait til you return and save me from this pointless life. I visit your grave each day to remember you and pray for your return. Oh, Amy, you know I cannot leave this place, but I wish so much to be by your side.’”

She paused, blinking at the paper. Simon hadn’t even realised he’d stood up straight, the neurotriptyline forgotten.

“’Jem tell me it’s getting colder here now, although it’s always cold without you. It rains a lot. I hope you have an umbrella to keep your beautiful hair dry.’”

She choked, wavering. Her eyes were reading one line of the letter over and over.

“Amy?” Rachel seemed concerned, getting up and walking over. Amy hurriedly folded the letter and tried to look composed.

“Oh, silly,” she reprimanded, “Don’t worry about me! I’m just worried about poor Kier-Kier and how he’s doing without me!  He’s such a sensitive soul, you know. I think I should go and write him another letter to cheer him up.”

Excuse made, Amy made to leave the room. Rachel nodded, giving her a smile.

“Say ‘hi’ from me.”

As Amy all but ran towards her room and Rachel returned to the dining table, Simon cast a glance around the large kitchen. The only other two occupants were busy with a hushed conversation. They wouldn’t notice him as Simon slipped out the room after Amy.

-

He found her sitting on the edge of her bed, facing towards the window. As he moved round to see her face, he saw the letter tightly grasped in one hand, her other covering her mouth as if she thought she were about to be sick.

“Amy?”

She didn’t look up.

“Amy, what’s wrong?”

He sat down beside her, carefully placing his hand on her shoulder. It took barely a second before she moved, throwing herself at Simon and wrapping her arms around him and sobbing against his chest. He encircled her in a tight embrace as she clung to him as if he were her last hope, shaking with the grief overwhelming her. It wasn’t an act. Overdramatic though she could be, Amy was truly in pain. He rocked gently, rubbing circles on her back he hoped she could feel, and waited as long as he could before asking again.

“Amy, what’s wrong? Did something happen to Kieren?”

She shook her head against him, her voice muffled against the thick fabric of the jumper he wore.

“No, it’s his…” she struggled to find the words. “Rick… Rick was murdered.”

Cold rage shot through Simon. Rick was one of the Undead, one of the Redeemed. The murder of any of the risen – even if ‘untreated’ – was unforgiveable. Each murder should be avenged, tenfold.

He took a moment to still his angered thoughts, trying to put aside his feelings and focus on Amy. She was still clinging to him, but seemed a fraction more composed. A few minutes later, she pulled back and gave a humourless laugh.

“Look at me, what a mess!”

“Hey,” he said sternly, catching her eye, “It’s okay. Feel what you have to feel. Don’t be ashamed. You don’t have to hide from me. I’m always here to listen.”

She looked down, nodding to her lap.

“I’m sorry, I just…” she looked up again, staring out the window at the grey skies beyond. “Just… poor Kieren. I can’t believe he has to go through that – again. I just…”

“You can go if you must.”

She shook her head almost imperceptibly. “No, I think… I think this time he’s okay. Rick has been buried, and Kier’s written this letter since then so…”

Simon picked up on her words. _‘This time.’_ So Kieren had lived through the death of his friend once before. He suddenly wondered…

“Last time, he…?”

She was nodding, still staring vacantly out the window.

“He showed me. I- I remember. I couldn’t believe it. This beautiful, gorgeous person had… he did _that_. And I was just so sad and felt so lost that I couldn’t make it right, I couldn’t fix it… And then Rick came back, and I thought it would be okay. Kier didn’t need me, he needed Rick, and Rick was there again. Everything was going to be perfect for him, Simon. Everything was supposed to be okay.”

She turned to look at him, her eyes a full of such pain and sadness.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Simon tried to comfort, pulling her into a tight embrace again. “He’s not going anywhere this time. You said yourself they’ve had a funeral. Kieren got through that. He’s going to be okay. He has you as well. He wouldn’t leave you like that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” Amy agreed. She exhaled softly, obviously focusing on the unnecessary function to try and still her turbulent thoughts. Simon didn’t move until she pulled away, watching yet another small, uncertain smile cross her lips.

“I’ll be okay now, promise.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll be back through in a bit. Just wanna write him a letter.”

“Okay, see you in a bit,” Simon agreed, taking the hint for solitude. He cast a glance at the letter still tightly clenched in her hand, sighing as he stood and left the room.

-

Amy emerged nearly two hours later, a gaudy pink envelope in her hand. Spotting her, Simon gave a rough smile.

“Going for a walk, Amy?”

“Only to the post box,” she replied breezily.

“Want some company?”

She grinned, seeming much more her normal self.

“I would be honoured, Mr. Disciple.”

-

Simon leafed through the folio of letters until he reached the very first letter Kieren had sent Amy. It was written on the same paper as the rest of them, but was easily distinguished by the state it was in. Severely crumpled, Amy had obviously tried to flatten it out, but the paper remained stubborn against any attempts she had made. Almost reverently, Simon pulled it out. He had seen most of the other letters Kieren had sent Amy – either because she showed him, or left them lying and he couldn’t help but pick them up – but never this one. His curiosity to know more about Keiren outweighed the guilt he knew he should feel at prying.

Touching the crumpled paper, he took a step back and sat down on the bed, beginning to read:

_Amy,_

_I’m sorry it took so long for me to write back._

_I’m sorry. I don’t know how to say this. I don’t want to admitt it but I have to find the words to tell you somehow. Well the words are easy. Rick is dead. His dad murdered him. For sticking up for me. I keep trying to wake up hoping its a bad dream and I keep trying to fall asleep to remember him without the pain. It hurts so much losing someone all over again. Amy I really loved him. He was the best thing about my life and I want that back so badly._

_I guess at least this time he has a grave._

_I miss you. Thank you for your letters. I can’t leave though.  I have to stay here and fix this. Jem needs me and my parents need me to. Please don’t get in any trouble. You can write to me – I love getting your letters. I will try and write to you more. Your house is still borded up. Thank you for the graffiti._

_Yours,_

_Kieren x_

Simon stared at the letter, his eyes tracing over the different fragments of the whole. He smiled at the small errors, finding the fact Kieren knew how to spell ‘graffiti’ but not ‘boarded’ fitting. Trust an artist. His eyes were drawn back to what he thought must be the most beautiful, tragic phrase he had ever read. _I keep trying to wake up hoping it’s a bad dream and I keep trying to fall asleep to remember him without the pain._ The sincerity of his suffering voiced in the unintended poetry was astonishing, and Simon was… moved. He didn’t know what to make of this guy, this complete stranger he knew only through Amy’s stories and the few letters he’d manage to skim through on the sly.

Surprised he hadn’t done so straight away, Simon suddenly pulled the papers clean out of the folder and started hunting for the photograph he hoped was in there. After a second, it dropped from between the sheets of paper he held in his hand and lay staring up at him. His lungs drew an involuntary sharp breath. Amy had shown it to him before. He thought he had remembered what Kieren looked like in that photo, grinning at the camera whilst holding up a nearly-empty pint, but he truly hadn’t. The memory didn’t compare. The image focused to a painful pinpoint a sensation Simon was floored by. He was… enthralled. Taking in the soft brown eyes and wide, open smile, he found it hurt to think of him suffering and feeling any unhappiness. His fingers carefully traced the edge of the photo, before picking it up to look closer. He wondered what Kieren looked like now. Probably much the same, although a great deal paler. He couldn’t be any younger than seventeen in the photo, and he had been eighteen when he died.

He carefully set it down atop the first letter. The two items were unique amongst the portfolio of papers Amy had amassed. There were no other photographs, and all the other letters were littered with drawings and embellishments – Kieren decorated them with delicate sketches and paintings of flowers and curving vines snaking their way down the margins, occasionally replacing paragraphs with drawings of something he imagined himself and Amy doing – visiting the seaside, going through that haunted house again, dressed in Halloween costumes. There were also some individual paintings and a few pages of rough sketches – all of which Amy had gladly shown anyone nearby on several occasions. Simon supposed the sketches would otherwise have ended up discarded, but Amy clearly treasured each one as if it were a masterpiece. They were interesting in their own right, he supposed. You could see the different styles Kieren played with, although it was clear he gravitated more towards the expressionist style he had used for the painting he had done of Amy, which was hung proudly on her wall. Simon glanced at it, almost uneasy with the bold, free use of colours and unashamed confidence of the piece. He didn’t know how to read the emotions captured there, and supposed that was the issue. He understood more ‘traditional’ – in his mind, at least – art, with its delicate, graceful subtlety and resounding sensibility when it came to the colour palette and representation of the subject. He didn’t dislike Kieren’s style, he just didn’t understand it.

 Turning to the papers in his hand, Simon started leafing through the letters. Amy would be gone for at least another hour, so under the watchful gaze of Kieren’s photograph and Amy’s bold portrait, he sifted through the matrix of words that painted a picture of Kieren’s world, of his life and himself.

Simon had always loved and been fascinated by words, and found as much beauty and expression in them – even in simple, misspelt or misused ones – as anyone ever could in the most accomplished painting or the most beautifully crafted sculpture. It was art to him. Skimming over the letters, he found every small mistake that he came across tugging at his attention, inviting him to trace his mind over the rough-woven canvas of Keiren’s thoughts and fall further into it. He wished he would write to him. What would Kieren tell him about? Would he be as open and expressive as his semi-neat cursive handwriting, or would he treat Simon with polite distance and menial small talk? In person Amy said he could be reserved and was ‘definitely too cautious’, always overthinking actions and reactions. Simon smiled to himself, amused, at the idea of this young man who was so bold and open on paper, yet tried so hard to carefully fold himself into the niches everyone else expected of him.

He shook his head, turning over a letter to read the parting words he always left for Amy:  _Yours, Kieren x_.

He wondered how much of Kieren Amy truly had. For a fraction of a second, he allowed a flicker of jealousy, admitting that he wanted something like that too. He wanted a sincere, honest friend who didn’t shy away from sharing their innermost feelings with him, yet spoke with consideration and unselfish balance. Kieren always asked after Amy, leaving questions for her scattered throughout his letters (not that Amy would ever need any such prompts). He never voiced great doubt or hardship without then reassuring Amy in some way that he was okay. There was no reverence, no blind worship – just reciprocal concern and interest. Simon wondered what it would be like to have someone like that in his life. He couldn’t place why exactly he wanted it. He had been perfectly fine the entirety of both his lives, but there was something about Kieren’s letters that stirred a deeply hidden longing to just be accepted for who he was himself and not for what he could be, or was on the surface, or could even be in the future. All this time since meeting the Prophet, Simon had forgotten what he looked like beneath the veneer he’d constructed on the outside once he’d told himself he had found his purpose and place in life. The guise was even on the inside. He’d told himself that this was his calling, that he finally belonged and there was nothing more he could ever want or need. But seeing the friendship Amy had with this boy… It touched on that broken, fragmented part of his soul he had tried all his lives to heal, but had eventually locked away. What he wouldn’t give for one letter, or a sketch of his own…

Kieren was lost, he was disillusioned with the life he told himself he should be living, yet Amy’s suggestions and attempts to coerce him into leaving and joining her at the commune were repeatedly met with the same cynical rejection. Kieren mistrusted the ULA. There was clearly something a little more needed to push Kieren into the light and help him see the way things really were. Simon wished he could reach out to Kieren and save him from the caged existence he confined himself to; to set him free – freer than any words or artwork could ever describe. Part of that desire he knew was selfish. He didn’t just want to win Kieren for the Cause, but also for himself.

But therein lay the flicker of fear that made him hesitate – the prospect of rejection that Simon fought so hard to save himself from. He knew he never could reach out and change Kieren’s life, but if he could… Perhaps he would reject the message the ULA spread. Perhaps he would accept it. Maybe he would turn to Simon and listen to him as all the other followers did. And maybe that would be it. Simon would just be what he was to everyone else – a Disciple of the Prophet, their teacher, someone to look up to and respect and whose word was absolute truth.

Slowly, he began putting the papers away, already pushing thoughts of Kieren from his mind. It was wrong of him to pry, but he reminded himself that his intentions were honourable. He wanted to help save another one of the Undead from the dark, dark shadow into which they had been cast, just as he wanted to save all the others who had Risen. It was just that Kieren was a little different because he was Amy’s friend; that was all. He wanted to give him the freedom to finally be happy that he was worthy of, because that would make Amy happy too. The liberation of all the Undead was what Simon wanted and worked for.

That was his aim; his only purpose in this life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinda lame tie-off. Sorry.

Simon wondered if there was any disgrace in what he was feeling. He was ashamed; confused. On one bended knee he repeated the mantra, trying to push his attention back to the task at hand.

“Behold, I lay in Zion, a chief corner stone elect, precious: and he that beleiveth on him shall not be put to shame…”

Kieren flickered across his thoughts again, a strange undercurrent swirling beneath the excitement he felt at the thought of the mission he had been given. There should be nothing else Simon desired, but he couldn’t deny his anticipation to meet Kieren, to finally come face-to-face with the young man he felt he knew so well, yet not at all. He wanted to know his voice, see how he reacted, if he would smile and laugh freely for Simon as he imagined he did for Amy.  Some strange part of Simon sought deep within his mind to drag up fragments of poetry he thought he had long-since forgotten. They hadn’t been worth remembering back then, but perhaps now they were something Kieren would enjoy – the only kind of art Simon knew and could contribute.

He should still his thoughts. He had a purpose. Rising, he looked around his room, crossing to the wardrobe and pulling out a large, worn rucksack, eyeing the other contents before closing the door. He wouldn’t pack just yet. He had to find Amy and tell her the news. He would have to address the commune. He didn’t have much time, not that he needed it anyway. They were to leave come the morning. Sixteen hours… He’d already decided to leave after morning Church, but found he was anxious to leave sooner. The sooner he could get started, the sooner he could complete his mission.

It also meant the sooner he could meet Kieren, but he didn’t even allow himself to acknowledge that thought as he left his room and headed down the corridor looking for Amy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bible quote is from Peter 2:6

**Author's Note:**

> "I keep trying to wake up hoping its a bad dream and I keep trying to fall asleep to remember him without the pain."  
> What can I say, I'm really happy with that line.


End file.
